New idea

Night fell over the city. The moon, hidden behind clouds, couldn't illuminate the alleyways where nightlife continued its grim routine. Groups of scoundrels emerged from basements, stairwells, parks, and trash bins where they hid during the day from the contemptuous gaze of the city's working-class residents. Shamefully hidden during the day, at night they could begin their brief reign. This was their time...

Zbychu, known to others as "Dykta," could once again begin to divide and conquer. He proudly gazed at his companions standing before him, possessed of the purple liquid, delightfully warming their stomachs. This was his army. These few grim-looking individuals, unable to string together a grammatical sentence, yet oh-so-obedient to his will. Who could blame them? After all, before he reached his current position, he had been the CEO of a leading national company. Unfortunately, his overly frank approach to people and his unprecedented honesty had pushed him to the margins of society. He couldn't bribe others like others, nor treat his employees like garbage. He was too honest for the market economy.

Therefore, after a few years at the top, he was stripped of his honors and privileges. He even had a chance to return to his rightful place. He didn't want to. He decided he wouldn't break the principles he was loyal to, nor conform to the demands of the market and the people who governed them. He decided to follow his own path and found solace among these simple drunks from under the dumpster. He found that the principles that guided their paths, even though primitive, most closely matched his expectations. For them, the most important thing was a specific understanding of honor and loyalty to oneself. And that was also the most important thing for him. He quickly earned the respect and esteem of these people.

They knew he had once been someone in that world, incomprehensible to them, and now, by choice, he had chosen to stay with them. This impressed them greatly. Unconsciously, they recognized him as a leader and always began their nocturnal debates with his opinion. This was no different this time. The ten of them stood in the courtyard of a ruined tenement building slated for demolition. Thanks to this, no one and nothing could disturb them from making long-term plans. And that was precisely the plan "Dykt" intended to unfold before them. For now, he waited until the bottle of purple liquid made its rounds among the standing men. When it returned to his hands, he raised his hand to speak. Silence fell:

"Comrades, listen to what I have to say."

I'm thinking, looking at the mess in our country, that we can clean it up. Yeah. Don't look at me like I'm crazy. That divine purple liquid hasn't weakened my head. Look for yourselves who's gaining power in this country. There are peasants from the barricades, why can't we? Who's stopping us? We'll form a party, develop a program, and seize power. No one will be able to challenge us then. Under the slogan "methylated spirits for all," we'll enter political circles. We'll revolutionize this entire union. We'll rule. I'm telling you...

They looked at him silently and with admiration. His words, hazy with purple fumes, barely registered. But when they did, they created a picture of pure enthusiasm. Yes. He's right. There's democracy, whatever it's called. Anyone can run for power. Why not them? A team will be assembled from every garbage dump in the country, every cage park. Everyone will vote for them. Why not? How are they worse than those currently in power? Do they have worse ideas? Probably not, after all, those in power don't have any vision anyway. And they'll always have one. If they drink a few more bottles, their vision will be so clear that they'll prepare a program that will convince everyone. And then no one will challenge them. They'll win one election, the next, and they'll never run out of dictum. And they'll find something to snack on